


Band-Aid Solution

by bees_stories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Gen, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 10, Snowball Fight, lying is a good thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting a snowball fight was a Band-Aid solution, one more lie to convince himself and Sam that everything was going to be all right. Set post episode 10:13: Halt and Catch Fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Band-Aid Solution

***

Maybe this hadn't been the best of ideas, Dean thought as he almost, but not quite, ducked another of Sam's salvos. He wiped snow from the shoulder of his jacket and wished he'd made his stand somewhere with better cover. As it was, he was pinned down and under siege.

Granted, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, taking a break at a rest stop and by spontaneously grabbing a handful of snow and rubbing it into Sam's hair, seizing the opportunity to kick the oppressive atmosphere of doom and gloom that was choking them, at least temporarily, to the curb. A little harmless fun was what they needed. Because when he'd said that he was okay, Sam hadn't believed a word of it. When he glanced over at Sam, Dean could practically see the diary entry he was composing in his head. He gritted his teeth as he saw the set of Sam's mouth and the look in his eye. Sam had come to the conclusion that he had found a whole new way to lose the fight against the Mark and that he was worrying about it like he'd decided to go out for the varsity worrying team.

Starting a snowball fight – lobbing another snowball to follow his opening gambit and then darting into the woods behind the rest stop – was a Band-Aid solution. Just like his show of ogling co-eds and stuffing his face with all-you-could-eat food from the cafeteria had been a gigantic act. Good old Dean, circa 2004, when life had been one long road trip. Before everything had gone to actual Hell in an actual hand basket, and demons and angels were mythical beings, rather than people they knew and occasionally trusted. 

The truth of the matter was the girls, while undeniably fresh-faced and nubile, were young enough to make him feel more than a little bit skeevy when he leered at them. And the mountain of fast food, burritos on top of pizza and topped off with a mountain of stir fried noodles, had soured his stomach. Even thinking about the amount of junk he'd packed away made him want to reach for his secret stash of antacid tablets.

But a Band-Aid was better than nothing when you were bleeding to death. At least when it came to lying to yourself that Death wasn't hanging around the corner, munching on a bag of fried pickle chips and playing cards with his posse of Reapers until they were good and ready to make their big entrance. Dean knew he was lying, big time, to both himself and Sammy. But he also knew that sometimes, if the lie was big enough, it became real. Or at least, real enough.

Just ask any kid when it came down to people like Santa Claus. 

Dean's lip curled in an ironic smile. Believing that he was going to find a solution to the Mark of Cain had become his version of Santa coming down the chimney on Christmas Eve. If, despite all the evidence to the contrary, he believed hard enough maybe, come what passed for his own personal Christmas Day, he'd wake up with an unmarred arm and his soul intact. The Mark would become just one more bad memory to be buried in the back of his brain on Bad Memory Mountain.

Until then, he'd just have to fake it until he could make it, for Sam's sake as well as his own. Sam was hanging onto hope by his fingernails. Every day they didn't find a clue in the Lore or hear a whisper about a cure, his belief eroded and he lost a little more faith. 

"Come on, Sammy," Dean goaded as he ducked another volley. "I know you can do better than that!" 

Coming out of cover long enough to taunt, cost him. Damn Sam's big hands and long arms anyway. The snowball landed hard on the side of his head; cold and wet, and dripping slush down the back of his neck. 

For a couple of long and scary seconds Dean saw red as the Mark roared its ire, demanding retribution. There were rocks underneath the snow at his feet. A snow covered rock, thrown hard and with precision, could cause serious damage. 

_Maybe even enough damage to free them both of the Sam problem permanently._

Dean glared down at his arm. "Screw you," he hissed at the Mark savagely. "You are _not_ calling the shots anymore. Got it?"

He looked for a better position, one that had more trees to hide behind and better snow cover. Scooping up a double handful, he compressed a rough ball and hurled it in Sam's direction as he ran, exposing himself to another volley of snowballs fired with deadly accuracy.

Snowballs imploded against his shoulder and side with twin 'thwacks' and then he made cover. He bent over, hands on knees, chest heaving with cold and exertion. The red haze cleared, leaving him feeling exhausted, yet triumphant that he had resisted the Mark's siren call. 

But damn, that last volley had stung. 

He could hear Sam moving, carefully dodging from tree to tree, climbing down the slope. Dean cracked a smile as he remembered Sam at five, stalking him through a different patch of snow-covered woods. Sometimes things really did come full circle. Then, he had used the snowball fight to teach Sam how to track his prey without becoming the prey himself. For Sam it had seemed like harmless fun, he had no idea he was being initiated into the family business. 

Damn, things had seemed simple back then. Then the monsters were obvious: Wendingos and Chupacabras and the angry spirits of the restless dead. Those monsters could be sent packing with salt loads and silver and the rest of the tools in a hunter's kit. No fuss. No muss. All that was required was not tripping over your own feet and being quick on the trigger. 

Dean sighed, locking down the morbid nostalgia. He couldn't afford to let himself get soppy. Not now. Right now he had to figure out how to let Sam win without tipping his hand he was throwing the fight. 

He listened for the crunch of snow and heard it coming from his left. He lobbed an icy ball, hard. Sam grunted as it impacted. 

"You're gonna pay for that one, Dean!" 

"Yeah. Yeah. Big talk, Sammy. Let's see some action!" 

That was all it took. Sam broke cover, hurtling forward. He caught Dean in a flying tackle and they both went down sprawling into a snowbank.

Sam knelt, splayed kneed across Dean's chest, pinning him to the ground as he delivered the coup de grâce, a double handful of slush in Dean's face. 

Dean howled in mock outrage before he began to chuckle. "You win! You win, already! Now get off!" 

Sam clambered sideways, and then he offered his hand, pulling Dean to his feet as he stood. 

They were both shivering from being bombarded with cold, wet snow. They were both laughing like a pair of ignorant, carefree, kids. Dean reached out and gave Sam a one-armed hug and he was hit with another sense memory so powerful it made his knees tremble. He remembered walking out of those woods, arm slung over Sam's shoulders, knowing that even when they were on opposing sides, they were an unbreakable team. 

Dean wiped a tear along with slush off of his face. _This_ was why he wasn't going to give up the fight. _This_ was why he was going to figure out a way to live with the Mark of Cain. 

Sam had depended on him then to show him the way. He was still depending on him to do that now. To show him that there was no fight they couldn't win, as long as they were both above ground. 

As long as they were together.

end


End file.
